Normalcy
by Jennie
Summary: You'd think that facing a normal day at school would be easy for a superhero.


**Title:** Normalcy

**Summary:** A day in the life of Tim Drake.

**Author:** Jennie

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer**: Any characters you recognize aren't mine.

**AN:** Based on a challenge someone posted about a week ago, wanting to see some character have a stressful day that didn't involve crime fighting. It's my first time writing Tim- or any other Batfolk. And I'm new to DCU in general- oh how fun… Oh yeah, time line is…sometime when Tim's living at the Manor and is a senior in High School. Other than that, it's pretty open. Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well as any other feedback.

There were some days he just wanted to lie down in front of the Batmobile, and let it run over him.

This was one of them.

The day had started off bad- right before Batman decided to end patrol that morning, the Batsignal came on. The Riddler had escaped Arkham, and it took them five hours to get the Riddler back inside. This meant that it was nearing seven in the morning when he and Bruce finally entered the Batcave, and he had approximately twenty minutes to get showered, dressed and eat before dashing out the door to make it to the special Biology lesson at seven-thirty.

He would have made it on time, were it not for several accidents. First, he ended up tripping while getting out of the shower in the cave, and ended up blacking out. Since this was nothing major in the grand scheme of things- he had gotten _much_ worse and still attended school, he pulled on his clothes, ignored the headache, and dashed upstairs- to run right into Alfred and his tray of breakfast.

Alfred, Tim, the platter and the contents landed on the floor. The coffee was fresh, which meant it was _burning_ hot- and Tim ended up with it all over him. Just then the clock chimed seven o'clock, and Tim didn't bother with cursing over the coffee. He simply dashed up stairs, pulling off his clothes as he went, and threw on the nearest things handy.

He didn't realize until after he got to school that the gag shirt Roy Harper had given him, displaying a bat signal and "Batman's a hunk" in pink lettering wasn't probably the wisest thing to be wearing. There wasn't a dress code, per se, but he didn't think the teachers- or his classmates, for that matter- would let him live it down. He was so going to kill Harper after this...

He still hadn't managed breakfast, so by the time he was sitting in Biology, listening to the teacher drone on about dissecting the frogs in front of the students, his stomach was complaining. Loudly.

"Mr. Drake- does there seem to be a problem?" Every eye in the classroom turned to the now beet red student.

"No, sir. I just skipped breakfast this morning."

"Very well." The teacher turned back to the diagrams on the black board, probably as old as _Alfred_, and began explaining again.

"Here," his lab partner, Chris, shoved a granola bar at him. "It's banana- I hate the flavor. Go ahead and eat it."

Tim accepted it thankfully, gobbling it down as quickly as possible- but not quick enough to escape the eyes of the teacher.

"Mr. Drake! We do _not_ eat in the lab. As a senior, you should know that by now. Detention after school."

Protesting that Batman wanted him to get back early, so he could go over security protocols at Arkham probably wasn't going to fly. Great. So now detention _and_ a pissed off Batman. This day was just getting better and better.

Biology ended, he made it through Calculus just barely, but in English, he had a problem. Not only did the teacher surprise the class with a pop-quiz-essay assignment (basically an unannounced essay they had the entire class period to write, and got graded on), but Tim hadn't finished- or really even _read_ the book. Initially, he had planned to read it on patrol. But then there were the muggings as usual and an attempted break-in at the museum and then a suspicious fire at the docks and when the Riddler escaped, Tim pretty much gave up getting it read.

Bad move.

He tried his best, he really did. But he didn't even know who the characters he was supposed to write about _were_, nor did he understand the initial question. He hadn't gotten past the first chapter, and this essay was about the ending. Tim was, to put it simply, screwed.

This gained him another detention, as well as a failing grade. He usually got along decently with his English teacher, but the disappointment on her face and the harsh words stung deeply. He felt like he had failed her, failed himself, failed _everyone_- and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Gym was next. Normally, he could sit back and relax in gym. He'd pretend to be half as good as he actually was, miss a couple of hits or baskets or goals, run half-heartedly, curb his jumping and throwing and all in all, pretend to be the Geeky Tim Drake most of the school saw him as.

Except- today they were starting a new unit.

Gymnastics.

Now, Tim wasn't half as brilliant as gymnastics as Dick was. But while Dick was at Olympian level- or even _higher_, Tim was at least at state level, if not nationals for his age group. You _had_ to be able to do flips and somersaults and a lot more complicated things, if you wanted to succeed as Robin. Batman had the more overbearing style, while Robin was light, quick, flighty as the bird he was named after.

He could do cartwheels around these kids.

Usually, he'd just throw the routines. It's what he did in every other sport. But what Tim wasn't taking into account were his _reflexes_. When it was his turn to do the simple routine the coach had showed the boys, Tim stepped up, took a leap- and then memories of previous routines came to mind. He did a triple, landed on his hands, kicked out, twisted to the side, did a cartwheel and ended up in a perfect stance.

The class was staring at him in awe.

_Damn_, was all he could think.

He had blown that one.

"Drake, my God, you do _gymnastics_? Due to your previous performance in PE, I never thought you'd actually be an expert in this. See me after class- we need to talk. The principal wants me to get a team together- it's pointless, I tell her, but she won't listen- but hell, if you're this good, then you can _be_ the team. That ought to quiet her up about gymnastics and get me the grant money I need for the football team."

Brilliant.

"Coach, I can't compete or anything. I only know the moves because my brother- he's a gymnast. Well, an acrobat really, but he taught me the basics. I can't do much more than what I did today- reflexes just kind of took over and I did the routine I used to practice with him."

"Nonsense, Drake. You're _good_ and I'm going to use that. For someone I thought was about as athletic as a snail, you definitely surprised me."

"But- my guardian-" He still wasn't used to calling Bruce his _dad_ yet, and guardian had worked for Dick, hadn't it?

"If he has a problem with it, then I'll give him a call." Before Tim- or the coach- could say more, the bell rang, and Tim had to hurry or else be late to his next class.

He ended up falling asleep in Government. For one thing, he already knew this stuff. For another, even if he hadn't, it wasn't the most thrilling class and the monotone of the teacher's voice lulled him to sleep- until a heavy text book landed inches from his head woke him up.

Reflexes kicked in again, and he ended up in a fighting stance. Problem was that the desk wasn't really made for a fighting stance, so he ended up tangled and knocking the desk over, bringing him with it. "Detention, Mr. Drake," was the all that the teacher said as he tried to untangle himself from the desk.

Lunch was next, and passed relatively peacefully. He even managed to sleep a bit. After lunch, he had Spanish, where he ended up failing _another_ pop-quiz. Like the book he meant to read on patrol, he had planned on memorizing the vocabulary on the way back to the Cave.

He ended up sleeping during that trip.

Art was a pointless class, but he was required to take some kind of an elective to graduate. He wanted to take computers or something _fun_, but he realized that holding back his hacking skills would be tiresome, and he didn't really feel like drama (though after all the undercover assignments he had been on, he probably _would_ make a good actor) or music (he couldn't sing a note) or, much, much worse, Home Ec. There was a woodshop class, but it was full, and there was a metal shop class, but that was full too and he could probably teach the _teacher_ a thing or two in Mechanic class. So Tim ended up with art, which was as refreshing as it was annoying.

On one hand, he didn't need to hold back, because he was at the same level his classmates were. On the other hand, this meant actually _working_. Usually in English and Spanish, he was the perfect student. He learned quick and remembered what he learned. He could also finish a novel in hours when it would take his classmates weeks. Today just wasn't a good day. But art... he didn't have an advantage. And it was..._strange_ to be completely normal in one subject.

Today they were sketching their partners, and he smiled at Adam and began to sketch the boy. It wasn't complicated- while he wasn't a _great_ sketcher, Batman _had_ made sure he could at least sketch a crime scene, the likeness of a criminal and other things that would help an investigation, so he let his mind wander.

It wasn't until the bell rang and he was packing up that he remembered that not only did he have two detentions, but he had, unfortunately, ended up on the Senior Prom committee, and there was a meeting after school that day. A ridiculous requirement, but the school forced seniors to take part in "senior activities" to graduate. He hated it, but unwillingly had ended up on the prom committee as the only guy.

_Torture_.

"I can't go today, Alice. I've got two detentions." He tried to beg off, but the president of the committee wasn't listening.

"You _have_ to be there today, Tim. We're voting and if you're not there, we're fourteen and we need the tie breaker."

"Maybe there will be a clear majority today?" The look she gave him said it all. Half the committee was made up of those who had eagerly signed on, the first chance they got. The second half was people like Tim, who ended up assigned because there was nothing else they could get into. At least Tim _tried_ to make the best of it- but most didn't. There was almost _always_ a tie, when the half who didn't want to be there purposefully voted against the half who _did_, just to be annoying.

It was rather like Dick and Bruce at times, actually.

"Fine, fine, but Mrs. Mack's going to be there, right?" He named the teacher in charge of the committee. "She'll need to write me an excuse for being late to detention."

Trudging off to the meeting, he listened through an _hour_ of proposals, until the vote was finally able to be cast, with, no surprise, his vote being the tie breaker. He received the excuse from Mrs. Mack and dashed down the hall to the security offices, where he was supposed to be for his detention over an hour ago.

Yard work. Dizzy, starving, with a headache that had gotten worse and worse as the day went on, he was pulling weeds in the football field. This wouldn't have been _too_ horrible, except for the fact that the varsity team was practicing, mere yards away from him. And he had a certain...problem...with the team. Or more like they had a problem with the dweeby nerd Drake, who refused to do their homework for them, and actually _stood_ up to them when threatened.

When the first ball hit his back, he put it down as an accident. When the second missed his head by inches, he tensed, but did nothing. When the third one actually _hit_ his head, with enough force to knock him down, he saw red.

Mark Davies, Quarterback and all around bully, came over to "give him a hand up" and apologize- by apparently giving him the hand up, but shoving him face down into the muddy puddle that had been in the field since the last rain a week ago.

His head pounding, dizzy from the ball to the head, lack of food and sleep and probably the mild concussion he had received when he tripped getting out of the shower, he fought against Mark, who promptly shoved him deeper into the puddle. By this time, the rest of the team had caught on, as well as the coach, who came running over and pulled the boys apart.

Standing in the hot sun, muddy water trailing down his nose and into his eyes, over his shirt, the taste in his mouth... Forgot the Riddler escaping. Tim would break the _Joker_ out himself, if it meant he could just get some damn _rest_.

"I think that detention's finished, Drake," Coach said, before hauling him across the field and into the school. "Go home."

Yes. Home. That would be a wise idea.

Except when he got to his car, and made it half way there, the car died.

Tim wasn't sure whether to laugh at the irony, or cry at the injustice of it all.

So he made a compromise. Making sure the car was out of the way of any traffic, he curled up in the seat and decided to rest his eyes for a few minutes, let his headache recede some and then attempt to fix it.

An hour later, when Alfred was finally worried enough to alert Bruce to Tom's absence and Dick was sent to find the lad, Tim was still sitting in the car, curled up in the front seat, deeply asleep.

Dick didn't have the heart to wake him.


End file.
